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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23713642">Restraint</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blake/pseuds/Blake'>Blake</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>30 Days of Depeche Mode Bagginshield ficlets [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works &amp; Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, The Shire, they don't call him cock block smaug for nothing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:22:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>590</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23713642</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blake/pseuds/Blake</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes pouring salt on a wound is the only way to clean it out.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>30 Days of Depeche Mode Bagginshield ficlets [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1705147</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>77</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Restraint</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>prompt: "I'm not renowned for my restraint"</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For every hundred voices calling Thorin the king who overcame the dragon-sickness, there is always the one voice naming him the one to fall to it, and that is the voice which Thorin hears echoing in his mind for hours on end. Even after leaving the throne in steadier hands, ridding his own fingers of glittering things, and digging them into the earth of Bilbo’s garden, he still frets about his missteps more than any person Bilbo has ever met.</p><p>Fortunately, Bilbo is very quick when it comes to twisting others’ points of view. “What was it you were going to do to me, in the halls of Erebor, when you pointed your sword at me and asked me if I’d found your pretty trinket?” he asks by the fire on a quiet evening, when Thorin seems more lost in thought than any resident of Bag End has a right to be.</p><p>At first, Thorin’s eyes flash a betrayed, dark shade of blue, because he knows Bilbo already knows the answer. Then he bows his head, as he does every time anything from that time ever rises in conversation. He thinks Bilbo must be trying to draw light to his shame, because he all too easily imagines that the entire world aims to unearth his flaws and revel in them.</p><p>But Bilbo knows better now than to stop pushing at the slightest sign of resistance. Sometimes pouring salt on a wound is the only way to clean it out. “Surely it must have been something terrible indeed, if nothing less than the arrival of a dragon could impede your ambition.” Bilbo’s throat grows hot as he smiles. There’s something both thrilling and healing about recalling the cold, complicated fear in his heart at the time and replacing it with retrospective single-minded heat.</p><p>It’s not until Bilbo brushes Thorin’s hair back that the dwarf looks up to meet his eyes. “I wanted nothing more than to take you and make you mine,” he says, half shameful apology, half pleading forgiveness, and in no part hoping for the shiver of want that the words send skittering across Bilbo’s nerves.</p><p>“I rather wish you’d stated your purpose more plainly. I imagine it would be fun to prevent a war by simply lying on my back. Or would you have had me on my front? Or perhaps against a wall?”</p><p>Thorin’s clever enough to catch on by now that Bilbo’s aim is not at his honor, but at something a bit lower. His face softens, finally, for the first time in the hours since that wretched letter arrived. “Oh, I would have held you, first, in my mouth.” He leans in close enough that the fine hairs just behind Bilbo’s ears stand on end under the breath of his words. “Savored you, as hobbits do fine wine,” he murmurs, some somber note of apology still in it. “Treasured you,” he says, holding back from the simile that would draw more guilt into his voice. The restraint in his voice sounds like wanting more than he believes he can have, like desire.</p><p>Bilbo sets down his hot toddy immediately and resists the urge to rub the distractingly growing problem in his trousers. “I would have liked that.” He forces false regret and speculation to drown out the shallowness of his voice, as though he hadn’t experienced what it’s like to be savored and treasured by Thorin Oakenshield’s mouth a hundred times over. “Pity.”</p><p>Thorin appears too busy staring at Bilbo’s mouth to bother smiling. “Pity.”</p>
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